Demonsbane

6 ARRIVALS AND SETBACKS

They spent the night sleeping under the stars, Siggard holding Guthbreoht in his hands as he slept. The sword sang to him, and during its song, Siggard dreamed.

He stood again in the shield wall at Blackmarch, watching the demonic army break through the treeline. Giant boulders smashed into the ranks, flattening entire groups of soldiers. Still the lines held, the spear-men shouting insults at the demons.

Old Banagar smiled. "This is the way battle should be!"

"I'd rather be home!" Siggard shouted, raising his shield as the arrows started to fly. The goat-things stood before the army, holding great bows in their hands. Each time they loosed, a soldier fell, screaming in agony.

The smaller dog creatures and several of the goat creatures charged, bearing crude axes and clubs. They crashed against the shield wall, and the front lines became a struggle for survival. Siggard cut a goat-demon down with his sword, the force of the blow nearly unbalancing him. Something seemed strange about the blade, though, as if it wasn't really the one he should have…

The rush subsided, leaving the shield wall intact. Before the front lines lay a pile of bodies, some human, most monstrous. For the first time since the enemy came out onto the field, Siggard felt hope. Now that most of the demonic force was in the open, he saw that Entsteig had the advantage in numbers. More demons came out of the treeline, but they were outnumbered fivefold.

Once again they charged, this assault even more furious than the last. Siggard found himself barely able to think, his reflexes alone keeping him alive. As one creature came before him, he lifted his shield, the blow from an axe nearly knocking him over. His counterthrust took the creature in the belly, and the monster keeled over, screaming in anguish. As it fell, another took its place, and Siggard's blow almost severed the creature's head. The monster fell back in a spray of blood, a flap of skin the only thing holding its head to its neck.

"I think we might just win this battle!" Banagar shouted in triumph, raising his shield to mock the enemy.

With a fierce rustling, the shadows at the treeline parted, and a horrific monster strode into the open. Several of the Entsteigian archers loosed their arrows at it, but the shafts bounced harmlessly off the terrifying thing's muscular crimson chest.

Siggard gasped. The demon was a giant, easily dwarfing the goat creatures assailing them. Its eyes shone bright red, and horns protruded from its shoulders, elbows, and knees. It wore only a primitive loincloth and a belt, and it bore a giant sword. On its chest a strange symbol was emblazoned, and Siggard could not tell if it was a tattoo or something the creature wore.

"I am the favored of the Lord of Terror!" the creature bellowed, shaking the ground itself. "You will drop your weapons and submit to me, or all of you will die!"

A voice, tinny in comparison to the demon's, but still proud, called out. "We will never surrender to darkness. Go back to the underworld and trouble us no more!"

Siggard blinked, suddenly recognizing the voice. It was Prince Hrothwulf himself, the heir of Entsteig, a man beloved by the entire kingdom. He hadn't realized that the king had sent his son with this army, and for a moment he wondered if it was a good idea.

The demon smiled, and in that grin Siggard saw more malice than he had experienced in an entire lifetime. "Then all of you will die!"

The monster walked back into the trees, and the shadowy things moved again, covering its exit. There was a moment of silence, as Siggard and the rest of the army wondered what would come next.

"They're behind us!" came a startled cry from the rear of the line. Siggard turned to see several soldiers cut down, seemingly by nothing. Yet the blood spilled was real. Then a creature materialized, holding a long jagged knife, right in the middle of the shield wall.

Confusion reigned, and in that moment the demons attacked. This time, they broke through the shield wall, and Siggard found himself trapped in a sea of enemies. He fought like a madman, taking several of the creatures down, but there were still more, and the line was broken.

There was a gurgling cry from Banagar, and Siggard turned to face another of the materializing demons. With a great blow, he split open the creature's head, but more came, and Siggard found himself in a crush of men such that he couldn't move.

At that moment, sheer panic took hold.

He startled awake to see Sarnakyle standing watch. The wizard had draped his damp cloak over one of the tree branches, and seemed to be waiting for it to finish drying. The morning sun was still close to the horizon, giving off a pleasant heat tempered by a light breeze.

"It is a good day to be alive, my friend!" Sarnakyle said, motioning towards the clear sky. "This promises to be a great day."

Siggard stood and stretched. "I only hope that the people of Brennor agree with you."

Sarnakyle walked over, a piece of meat in his hand. "I was able to catch a hare last night. It was a bold creature; it almost walked right up to me."

Siggard took the offering with a nod and ate a small piece. Then he put the rest away.

"You really should eat more," Sarnakyle said. "This cannot be healthy."

"I found out only two days ago that my family was dead," Siggard pointed out. "How can you possibly expect me to be hungry?"

"If you don't eat, you will not have the strength to meet the foe, and you may end up joining your family before you can claim your vengeance," Sarnakyle chided. "Do not soil their memory by dying needlessly."

Siggard conceded the point and finished off the meal, even though he had no appetite for it. It seemed to settle, though, so he turned his mind to other things.

He stood and walked to the edge of the clearing, looking out at the barrows. In the morning light, they appeared old and decrepit, as though they were merely old tombs that would soon be forgotten. Perhaps one day they would fade into the land, and be passed by travelers who would mistake them for small hills.

Such is the way of things, Siggard thought. All things must be forgotten in the end.

"We should go," Sarnakyle said behind him. "The open road awaits."

Siggard nodded, turning away from the mounds. Somehow, he knew that he would never see them again in his lifetime. He pulled on his cloak, and joined the wizard as they ventured off towards the Queen's Road.

Around midday, they finally came to Brennor, and as with every other time he had been there, Siggard felt overwhelmed. The town was huge, surrounded by a large stone wall that was said to be impenetrable.

They stood at the gate, watching the guard allow a trickle of travelers inside the wall. The guards were impressive, their deep blue tabards and shining mail putting the entire army of Entsteig to shame.

"So this is your idea of a town," Sarnakyle mused. "Quaint. I like it, though."

"Surely you can't think this to be small," Siggard scoffed. "This is one of the greatest towns in the land."

"In Kehjistan, there are villages larger than this," Sarnakyle said. "But that is Kehjistan, and this is Entsteig. Standards are different."

"Let's go in and see the earl," Siggard sighed. He didn't want to get the wizard started on another long-winded story about the wonders of his homeland.

Sarnakyle held his hand up for a moment. "You saw how easily a demonic presence can lurk in a human form. We must be cautious, and tell only the earl what we know."

Siggard nodded. "Or the enemy might know our secrets. Don't worry; I understand."

As they approached the gate, the two guards lowered their spears to block the way.

"State your names and business."

"Siggard of Bear's Hill, and Sarnakyle of Kehjistan," Siggard replied. "We are here to stay for the night, and then head southwards on the King's Road."

"Why are you heading south?"

Siggard pursed his lips, then spoke. "My friend and I are visiting some of my relatives in Gellan's Pass."

The first guard's mustache bristled. "You might have some difficulty with that. We haven't had word from the south since shortly after Blackmarch. Pass and be recognized."

They entered the town, immediately assaulted by a menagerie of sights and scents as they went along one of the narrow winding streets. The blocky stone buildings rose high above them, and several times they had to dodge a rain of reeking excrement as somebody emptied out a chamber pot.

"I suppose some people enjoy living like this," Siggard muttered, wiping some mud from a passing horse off his cloak.

"People like to dwell together," Sarnakyle said. "And in a city or town you can find artisans, craftsmen, all those trades that cannot flourish in a village."

"Art for squalor," Siggard said. "I wonder if the trade is worthwhile."

Sarnakyle smiled. "When you come to the east with me one day, my friend, you will see why it is. Now, do you know anything of this earl?"

"I served under the Earl of Brennor at Blackmarch, but I do not know if he survived," Siggard replied.

"We can probably assume that he didn't," Sarnakyle said. "I did not hear of any of the leaders living through the battle, and if any had, the bards would have spoken of them in their songs. Does he have a son?"

Siggard nodded. "Tilgar. Earl Edgewulf is a good man, who knows when and how to listen. I have not met his son, though. I have heard that Tilgar is brave, but not much else."

"We must hope that he is the equal of his father," Sarnakyle stated.

When they arrived at the stone castle that housed the seat of the Earl of Brennor, they were shown in to a small audience chamber. There they waited, Sarnakyle taking a close look at the tapestries on the wall while Siggard sat in one of the three chairs that had been provided.

"This is interesting," Sarnakyle said, pointing at one of the pictures. "This shows a battle between Heaven and Hell. I didn't think that mythology had spread so far."

Siggard blinked. "We have always believed in Heaven and Hell. We may even have learned of it first."

Sarnakyle chuckled. "Now there you must jest! No learning could equal the greatness of Kehjistan!"

The door opened, and a rotund man with a bushy gray beard walked in. Siggard looked at him closely, but it was not Earl Edgewulf. The man appeared too old to be the earl's son, though.

"I am Hunfrith, the steward of Brennor," the man said. "Please, be seated. I understand that you request an urgent audience with his lordship, Earl Tilgar."

Sarnakyle nodded and sat. "It is of the utmost importance."

Siggard blinked. "Not Earl Edgewulf?"

Hunfrith shook his head sadly. "His lordship was slain at the battle of Blackmarch. Earl Tilgar now holds the seat of Brennor."

"Our condolences," Sarnakyle said. "But we really must see his lordship now."

"Now, what this is about?" Hunfrith asked, leaning forward.

"It would be better if his lordship heard it first," Siggard said.

"Understand my position here," Hunfrith said. "You are asking to see his lordship, who is a very busy man. Not only is there now a food shortage, due to a lack of merchant trade, but the king's son, Prince Hrothwulf, was slain with the old earl at Blackmarch, a battle for which we have no reliable accounts. This means that there is now no successor to the throne, and now that his majesty has become ill every landowner who has rings to give away is trying to solidify his power. For all I know, you two could be assassins, or you could have news of minor importance at best. So I need to know that this is worthwhile."

Siggard decided to take the risk. "There is an army of demons raiding the lands around Brennor. My own village has been attacked and destroyed, and so have most of the settlements around the town. That is why no merchants have come with harvest goods."

"Their strategy will be to cut off your supplies and then attack the town," Sarnakyle added reluctantly. "I have seen this before in Kehjistan. From what you have told me, they have already succeeded."

Hunfrith looked at them incredulously. "Do you honestly expect me to believe this?" he demanded. "An army of demons? I wish that was a new rumor; I think I preferred the stories of goblins and a dragon. This must be some sort of ridiculous joke."

"It is no joke," Siggard asserted. "I was at Blackmarch, and I saw what faced us. We were not fighting against men, but the foulest creatures of Hell."

"You were at Blackmarch," Hunfrith said.

Siggard nodded.

"And how did you survive the battle, may I ask?"

Siggard shrugged. "I do not remember. I just recall the shield wall breaking, and then I was in the forest with a giant lump on my head. I lost two days."

"It sounds to me like you are a deserter trying to cover your cowardice with tales of ghosts and goblins," Hunfrith stated.

"Siggard is no deserter, and we have important news," Sarnakyle said impatiently. "You may come under attack any night now. Will you kindly let us pass?"

Hunfrith stood up. "Absolutely not!" he bellowed. "You are lucky I don't order you two hanged for cowardice! Now get out of my sight before I change my mind!"

Siggard shook his head and stood angrily, turning to Hunfrith. "This is not over."

The steward smiled thinly. "Shall I have the guards escort you out?"

"We know the way," Sarnakyle said bitterly. With that, they turned on their heels and left.

They found a suitable inn shortly before sundown. The accommodations were acceptable, but barely, and it was the best they had seen in the northern side of town. At least the help didn't try to harass them while they ate.

"We will have to try again tomorrow morning," Sarnakyle said, supping on some thin vegetable soup. "If this town isn't prepared, the archdemon will simply walk through it."

"We'll need a way to get past the steward," Siggard said, ignoring his own soup and longing for some of Emilye's delicious mutton stew. The very thought of her brought a tear to his eye, and as he wiped it away he had to wrench his thoughts back to more immediate matters.

"Perhaps we can deliver something," Sarnakyle suggested. "Is there anything the castle is in desperate need of, besides a new steward?"

Siggard shrugged and stood up. "I have to get some fresh air."

"One moment," Sarnakyle said. "I'm almost finished." He downed the last of his soup, left a small silver coin on the table, and joined Siggard.

In the street, Siggard took a deep breath, but the air was not as fresh as he had hoped. Sarnakyle leaned against the inn's gray stone wall, and together they watched the few townspeople meander around, some looking as though they had some sort of direction, others appearing to be lost souls.

"Do you remember anything about the archdemon you fought?" Sarnakyle asked. "Anything at all could help."

"Lots of horns," Siggard replied.

"Most greater demons have lots of horns," Sarnakyle said. "I have no doubt that the Prime Evils themselves must look like balls of spikes. Anything else?"

Siggard thought for a moment. "There was a symbol on its chest. I can't remember what it was, though."

"A glyph," Sarnakyle said. "That could be very ill news. That means that the archdemon is enchanted in some… do you smell smoke?"

Siggard started and inhaled sharply. Indeed, an acrid stench now filled the air. He looked around to see a large pillar of smoke rising from the eastern side of town.

Siggard was overcome with dread. Part of Brennor was burning, and there was no thought of it being an accident; surely the demonic siege had begun.